Renewal - Book I - Legacy of the Ancients
by Turambar - Turun Ambartanen
Summary: Some wonder how writers get their ideas. No one knows, really, but they write, and seemingly create worlds of their own. On Earth, it has been a hundred years since Saint Dane's rule. But across Halla, a new threat begins to rise, one that promises to bring all reality to ashes and dust...


**A/N: Feel free to point out any mistakes in grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc. I'll tell you whether those were intentional or not (given that I'm 'rewriting' 'someone else's' journal.**

**On another note, this was meant to be saved as the sequel to Return, my other Pendragon X-Over, but that one didn't end so well. It was, however, the pilot of this, and will still be counted as part of my fanon (or modified appropriately to suit my needs). I will, however, discontinue 'Return' as now the writing feels childish to me and I cannot bring myself to change it along with updating everything else.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the OCs.**

* * *

**Journal # 1  
Day 3  
Written in God knows where**

Whoever is reading this, this is John. I have no idea where I am, or what I'm supposed to do here. I'm starting to believe my uncle is crazy. I'm starting to believe _I'm _crazy. Well, I'm pretty safe where I am, at least. Safe-ish. As safe as I can be in a camp that promotes ancient greek military training. Yes, you read that right. And my uncle Bobby is hardly any help. Yes, my Uncle Bobby Pendragon, you read that right as well.

Nothing really makes sense to me anymore. The universe is now officially the multiverse, or 'Halla' as my uncle likes to call it, and each universe is apparently connected by these 'flumes'. Pretty basic, putting it that way. But then religion decides to come in. The gods exist. The Greek gods. Zeus, Hades, etc. Not sure what that means for 'God' but uncle says that's getting metaphysical. Well, if that is not hypocritical on his part, I don't know what is.

You might want to know how I got here, in twenty-first century Manhattan from fifty-second century Virginia, assuming you believe me and you're still reading this. It all started (cliche line, but I'm not an author and I don't care; so screw me) with my uncle taking me on a walk down a park where I sometimes see him work on the premise of showing me some new sights. There was this tool shed and he looked to me, asking "You trust me, right?" Me being me, and Uncle being himself, I answered yes.

He entered the shed, and I followed him in.

Worst. Mistake. Of. My. Life.

He opened a trap door the tool shed after removing a very heavy cabinet from on top of it, and I could see that it was a pit of some kind. The light was sort of dim but I thought it looked rather man-made, though I would see no point to it unless it was a death pit of some kind, as if my uncle brought me here for that. I couldn't see the bottom, though, and there was no ladder of any kind in the shed, so I wondered why Uncle would bother. Unless he wanted me to dump something, which was likely in my opinion at the time.

He then muttered something and pushed me, none too gently, into the pit. The pit lit up like a white fireworks show, music sounded, and I screamed. I couldn't really hold on to anything, and my uncle didn't really seem to hear me, so I thought I was going to die. But the music continued and I found myself... I guess floating is a good word for it. I guess I would have had fun, but... well, you get where I'm coming from, don't you?

I closed my eyes, hoping that it would be quick - given the length of the fall, I'm surprised I wasn't even burned up from air friction, heck, I don't remember even feeling it. I peaked through my hands every so often, but nothing seemed to assure me of the my potential near-future existence, so I ultimately decided to close my eyes and wait it out.

When I finally did hit the floor, it was so gentle I wondered how I even felt it. I decided to make sure it was not a trick of my mind and it might as well have been. I was in what seemed to be a warehouse - very unfamiliar to me. It was dimly lit, just like the tool shed I came in from - just how is that even possible?

As I was questioning my sanity - and my apparent survival of the fall, more music - the same soft tones as before - came in from behind me. I turned, and I could make out Uncle Bobby floating towards me.

I briefly wondered how we ended up horizontal when the tunnel had no turns whatsoever and we entered through _falling _but I decided not to care, because as soon as Uncle 'landed', I walked up to him and punched him in the gut. Being a martial artist trainee, I'm sure that hurt.

But, being my Uncle, he wasn't knocked down like I'd hoped. "Ow... just _ow_..."

"You deserve that," I said. "And I deserve an explanation."

Uncle only grunted, giving me a good look. "Can we get to our destination first?"

I resisted the urge to punch him again. My fists remained clenched; I don't think I managed to relax them for the rest of that day. "Now, or no deal."

He shook his head. "At least I never punched _my_ uncle," I heard him mutter. "I'll explain, but first, let's get out of here. This warehouse is dangerous." He briskly walked past me, and opened up a box stacked on a shelf behind me. He pulled out two sets of clothes, rather different from the typical clothes we wore back home.

"Put these on."

"They look uncomfortable." I wasn't really one to complain about something as petty as clothing, and they honestly looked anything but uncomfortable (except maybe the jeans), but after that tunnel incident, it wasn't like I could trust him further than I could throw him.

Uncle only shrugged. "I'll do it myself, then." He then turned his back and began stripping. As soon as he had pulled on the clothes, an orange shirt and what seemed to be very old-style jeans - he had left his underwear on, though - he looked to me, _grinning_ of all things.

After thirty seconds of a futile staring contest, I decided to follow suit. I stripped down, keeping my underwear on, and pulled on the jeans. They were quite comfortable, surprisingly. I tried on the orange shirt, and it was a perfect fit. I would almost say it was tailored for me.

"Now what?"

"We hurry," he replied simply. "It's dangerous staying in one place long, especially where we are."

"And... that's _where_?"

"You're either going to run or punch me again if I tell you," he said, and before I could protest, he began steering me out of the warehouse, and out onto a street.

"Is this - "

"Welcome to the early twenty-first century," he said, smiling, a bit of what seemed to be nostalgia in his gaze. "Albeit, a different version from what you're accustomed to."

"Different ver-" I stopped, my mind working. "What about Ravinia?" I asked, not bothering to hide my concern. I'm glad I payed attention in history class. I looked around for the red flag with the black star, surprised to find none.

Uncle's smile fell at that. "For all intents and purposes, Alexander Naymeer doesn't exist."

"But he - How are we even here?" Now that I think about it, that travel down the flume, that tunnel Uncle pushed me into, must have left me more shocked than I realized. Even now, my third day into this bizarre scenario, it's hard forming a straight sentence.

"Time-space tunnel," he said, so casually it seemed almost common-sense. "We'll call it a flume, for all intents and purposes."

"Flume," I repeated, just as he steered me toward the very busy street. I looked around. "Is this-"

"Manhattan. Taxi!"

A yellow vehicle, a car I think, if I remember history, stopped right in front of us. Uncle pulled out a bit of cash and passed it to the driver. "Can you get us to Long Island? Delphi Strawberry Service." With a nod from the driver, Uncle and I got in.

"So what-"

As I should have expected, "Questions later." I grudgingly decided to obey for the moment.

The traffic was surprisingly heavy, yet smooth. It wasn't that long, I guess, to get to Long Island. Now, I wonder why we didn't try to take a train instead.

I decided to keep my mouth shut for the trip. Uncle was being too mysterious, and if we really were in the twenty-first century, I'm glad I did. Too many implications, complication, etc. as my Uncle explained. Also, I was simply too overloaded to wrap my head around some things (still feel that a bit, sadly).

I stared around at the city. It was very different from modern-day Virginia, where I live. Everything was big and artificial except for the parks. Those were nice, and reminded me a bit of home. I turned to my Uncle and that look of nostalgia on his face, deciding to ask him something the first moment we were alone.

That moment came immediately after our drop-off at this hill, which was apparently the place of this 'Strawberry Service'. The driver asked no questions once Uncle payed him - I wondered how he got that money in the first place - and he tried to steer me up the hill.

"I deserve an explanation," I told him. "And I want to know if ever I'm going back home."

Uncle looked at me skeptically, a bit of surprise on his face. "You're a lot calmer than I expected."

"Answer the question," I said. He thought this was me being _calm_? "Or I'll punch you again."

"Now that you've given me warning, your punch wouldn't work," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway... let's start slow. First of all, if you do go home... it'll not be pleasant. I won't explain more than that today. Second... well, we kind of need your help with a problem here."

"Not buying it."

He seemed to have expected that. "Well, you can't go home without me. The flume won't work for you without the right words."

Yes, that was very convenient for him. Punching him again would not solve anything - although it would be quite cathartic in my opinion - and I really needed to clear my head... "So I just go along with whatever you have in mind?"

"Mostly." Oh, that is just great. "Let's talk more once I introduce you to some friends of ours."

"Ours?"

He answered in a sing-song voice, "And my friends are your friends and your friends are my friends-"

"Never mind." Why was it only in a moment like that, after leaving me with the trauma of falling down a hole into God-knows-where with absolutely no warning or _credible_ explanation that Uncle Bobby decides to be impossible?

He steered me towards the top of the hill where there was an enormous tree and... I think there was a golden sheep fleece on one of its branches and... well, Uncle Bobby said it was a dragon. I'm just glad it ignored us as we walked past it.

There was an arch, ancient Greek, I think - history class was vague on that area; it always leaned toward the Roman Empire, for some reason - that said "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood".

"Half-blood?"

"Later." Really, it's becoming a theme with Uncle Bobby the Impossible.

The first thing we saw were strawberry fields. I kinda expected it, though I wondered what help they'd need me here for. We walked down a road and I saw a much of cabins arranged in what Uncle told me was the Greek letter Omega. Now that I think of it, I might have seen that letter along with a fish-shaped on on priests' garments.

There was a large - more than the cabins which were huge - house painted baby-blue. My Uncle steered me around the cabins, almost as if he wanted to avoid the people walking to-and-fro in the cabin area, but kept us on a course for the big house.

There were a few people on the porch, all wearing orange shirts that read C.H.B. (in hindsight, that probably meant Camp Half-Blood) and one of them, a girl with curly blonde hair and who had a dagger belted to her waist (I found it odd at the time, but just go back to the start of the journal if you're confused), turned to us. Almost as if expecting us, she turned and entered the house. As we followed her in, I decided to ignore the stares of the others; I was never comfortable being stared at.

Entering, I saw a large dining table and a ping-pong table behind it. There was a man sitting on a wheelchair, speaking to the blond girl from earlier. They spoke in low tones, but I could tell the girl was pissed. The man turned to us. "Bobby. Glad to have you back. This must be John?"

Uncle nodded to them. "Chiron, we should speak. Alone." I think he was referring to the blond girl who was asked to leave immediately with an apology from Chiron. Her mood did not seem to improve for the rest of the day I saw her.

"No trouble with quigs?" the man, Chiron, asked once the girl was outside.

Uncle shook his head while I wondered what quigs were. "We need to integrate him," he said.

"Do we start by saying he's a Traveler, or that he should pretend to be a demigod?" Chiron asked, sounding quite tired.

"Traveler. And you might want to sit down and relax, John. You look like you're going to get hypertension."

"Haha." I sat down anyway, making sure I could see both of them. Unfortunately, that kinda placed them between me and the door. Against all logic, I decided to ignore that fact and kept sitting, arms crossed.

Uncle glanced to Chiron and began to pace. "Travelers... well, we're both Travelers - capital T - they are... people, you could say, that are destined for a job. We go around to different worlds and time, etc., and help around. That's the basic overview, anyway."

"Sounds cliche."

"Doesn't make it false," Chiron said, chuckling.

"Are you a Traveler?" I asked.

"No, it would be too conspicuous for me." Chiron sounded rather amused, though.

Uncle coughed. "Back on topic. We're here because we think this world is in danger. I'll be honest with you now, John. You're not going to like this job, but we need you to do it. You're the only one from back home, besides me, who actually can."

Again, it sounded cliche, but I ignored that. "Why not you? Why do I have to come in?"

"Because we need to pull out all stops," he answered. "Last time something like this happened, Ravinia was the result."

Now that was a surprise. Interdimensional problems equals worst elitist cult revolution in history plus dictatorship plus World War Three? Well, I could see what he was getting at. And I really hoped he was exaggerating. He may have hoped to pressure me, appealing to my sense of duty and honor, but, and be honest, who wouldn't be intimidated by that?

Well, I know one person who is _not_ included in the answer. "No."

Chiron looked mildly surprised, but Uncle Bobby looked like he had expected that. "Well, not like I can force you."

"So can we go home?" I was very caught off guard by his answer to my refusal, but hey, I wanted to milk it for what it was worth. And since he was planning to guilt-trip me, too bad for him, I'm not playing his game.

Uncle smiled, though. "Stay for a while. I've let a note for your parents. We're supposedly studying Ancient Greece, to back up the school texts you have. Not like they don't need it."

"But I'm not even studying Ancient Greece. This is twenty-first century New York. It's the farthest thing."

I heard a cough and turned to face Chiron who was busy climbing out of his wheelchair, which I found surprising. And, though it shouldn't be possible, he pulled out his legs from the back of the chair. Horse legs.

"If you're familiar with Greek mythology, you would know that Chiron is the name of a particular centaur who trained demigod heroes."

"He's not familiar, Chiron. Greece isn't a well-discussed topic back home."

"So much for being the birthplace of western civilization," the centaur muttered. "Anyway, John, you are a semi-permanent resident of Camp Half-Blood."

"What's a half-blood?" I just had to ask. It sounded like a kennel for mix breeds. Turns out, I was not so far-off.

"Demigod." Before I could phrase the next question, "Half human, half Greek god."

"They exist?"

"They are very real," Uncle interjected. "I met a few. Not pleasant."

Chiron gave him a bit of a smile. "What about Aphrodite?"

"Not my type," Uncle answered casually, though I think I saw a bit of a blush. I decided to rub it in later. It's the least I could do after everything.

"So what about God? Capital 'G'?" Of course I would ask. I've been brought up more or less religious, so it is rather sensitive (I'm only saying this if you're too slow to figure it out).

"We won't discuss the metaphysical yet," Uncle said simply. "Later."

What to say? "Is 'later' your theme word, Uncle Bobby?" or "You can talk about different dimensions but not God?"? Like I said, he was being rather hypocritical. Anyway, the decision was taken out of my hands by Chiron.

"Even the gods of Olympus don't know. Or so they tell us."

I looked at him, rather disconcerted. I tried not to let it show. "So this camp is for training demigods?"

"We have cabins to sort the children of different gods. We have twenty, as you may have seen when you came in. During your stay, you'll be staying in the Hermes cabin."

"God of messengers, roads, thieves, Jacks-of-all-trades, etc," Uncle supplied.

"Won't the others notice?" I asked.

"We'll just say you're a late bloomer who arrived late at camp," Chiron said. "You're... how old?"

"Seventeen."

"Definitely a late bloomer," Chiron said. "Well, I'll show you to your cabin. Since you don't have much possessions with you, you won't need to worry about them getting stolen."

"Comforting," I muttered.

Uncle stood and went out the door. "Annabeth Chase!" I heard him yell. He returned, gripping the same blond girl from earlier by the arm back in. "She was listening to the whole thing."

If that was a bad thing, which, judging by Uncle's and Chiron' expressions, it was, then we were probably screwed. I think. That's how it usually went in the stories I read.

I shook my head. "I get the feeling I'm going to hate my life from now on."

The girl was forced to a seat by my Uncle, and he and Chiron stared at her, both looking disappointed and tense at the same time.

"Bobby, go and introduce John to Connor and Travis," Chiron said gravely. "I'll deal with Annabeth."


End file.
